


A Summer Romance

by Rivulet027



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chocolate Frog Cards, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Old Friends, Older Characters, Second Chances, Survivor Guilt, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 02:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivulet027/pseuds/Rivulet027
Summary: Alastor doesn't think the two of them should feel old and alone. Albus isn't sure he wants to be wooed.





	A Summer Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



There’s a chocolate frog on his desk. Albus is willing to bet it’s his card too. He sinks into the chair behind his desk and waits. Alastor isn’t subtle, not usually. He picks up the package and turns it over in his hands.

“Chocolate not good enough?” Alastor asks from the shadows.

“Are you angry with me?” Albus inquires as he leans back heavily in his chair.

“Who could be angry with you?” Alastor dismisses.

“All sorts of people,” Albus shrugs. “Not that it does them any good.”

Alastor wheezes out a laugh, pushes himself out of the chair he’s in and makes his way over. He drops into a chair across from Albus and tells him. “No guilt. Half the point of keeping me locked away the way they did was so you wouldn’t know he was an imposter.”

“Then don’t blame yourself for being caught,” Albus challenges as he opens the package, aiming it so that the frog jumps into Alastor’s waiting hands. He smiles as Alastor eats the chocolate and he pulls his own card from the package. “One day you’re going to tell me how you manage to always give me my card.”

“Will you stop giving me that smile if I do?” Alastor asks.

It’s the wistfulness in his voice, Alastor’s suddenly soft tone that makes Albus pause and reconsider. “I guess some things are more a joy when they’re a mystery.”

Alastor gives a hum of approval before he sighs and leans back heavily in his chair. “Poppy thinks I need therapy.”

“Don’t we all?”

Alastor grumbles. “Am I really paranoid if I was right all along? Hate was still seeded among us and another war is already brewing. They want the child.”

“I was hoping he would no longer be a defenseless child when they came for him,” Albus reveals. He does worry about Harry.

“He’s not defenseless, but he’s still a child,” Alastor tells him.

“Teenager,” Albus contradicts.

“There’s a difference?” Alastor challenges.

“He’d probably disagree with you,” Albus concedes. “I wanted him to be older before he…I didn’t have hope, but I still wanted it.”

“We’re old,” Alastor changes the subject.

“Morose,” Albus tells him.

“We’re not morose,” Alastor grumbles. “We’re old and weary. Old and alone.”

“Isn’t it better that way?”

“Still trying to atone for past mistakes?” Alastor glares, his magic eye twisting to regard Albus.

Albus raises his eyebrows. He sets the card on his desk, a small bit of whimsy from an old friend to soften the heavy conversation they’re about to have. “What are you getting at Alastor?”

“We both live in the past so we can preserve the future, but even with all that planning and scheming, and attempting to honor the people we lost, even if it was just preserving their memories, it isn’t going to prevent another war. We’re going to lose people we care about, again. You think either of us won’t be counted among them this time? Do you think either of us won’t want to be counted among them this time?”

Albus closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath. He can’t hold Alastor’s gaze any longer. They both know the truth in his question. Most of his family is gone, so many of his friends are counted among the dead, and he’s not sure he can go on outliving the people he loves. If he was a younger man he’d scream and rage and push to put one foot in front of the other, but now all he wants to do is push others to put one foot in front of the other.

“I don’t know how to bury them all and keep moving forward,” he admits. Relief floods through him, at least he can admit this to Alastor.

“I thought I might die, when I was locked in my trunk,” Alastor adds so that they’re both confessing and both weighed down. “But here we are, both alive and well and left to fight for another day.”

“Yes,” Albus agrees, an edge of worry taking hold. Is Alastor going to leave their cause? He needs Alastor’s experience and cunning. “They’ll be another fight, they’ll probably be several.”

“I’m not walking away,” Alastor reassures. “You don’t need to convince me that I’m needed or placate my paranoia. I’m just old Albus. I’m probably not going to live through this war and after the last one I’m not sure I’d want to. I’m not sure I have energy to say goodbye, to bury, and fight and the point is I’m old and alone. We’re both going to walk into this old and alone. I don’t want to walk into it alone.”

Albus tilts his head, taking in the determination on Alastor’s face. “What are you proposing?”

“That neither of us has to be alone.”

Albus opens his mouth to protest, but Alastor stands. Albus stands and offers him a hand. Alastor shakes it, then turns it over and presses a kiss to the back of it. Albus’ eyes narrow. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“I’m going to give you time to mull over the idea of us, then I’ll be back to seduce you.”

Albus isn’t sure how to react. He doesn’t want to tell Alastor no and that’s the part that gives him pause. He’s old and alone and he’s also tired of being old and alone. Alastor is right in that regard.

There’s another chocolate frog on his desk the next day, with a note about how he didn’t get to eat the last one. It’s also his card. As Albus enjoys the chocolate he add the card to the stack in his bottom drawer, every card in that drawer is from Alastor.

Alastor shows up two days later with his favorite meal from The Three Broomsticks.

“Did Rosmerta tell you what I like?” Albus asks as he clears a space on his desk. He can stop working for dinner. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Did Rosmerta?” Alastor starts, then shakes his head. “I pay attention. I know what you like.”

His words are a low growl. Albus stills, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. He didn’t even think he could blush like that anymore. Alastor gives him a small pleased smile, before he continues to help set the food out. Then he settles into the chair across from Albus and asks about his day.

“No plotting, no planning, no scheming, just tell me about your day,” Alastor amends.

Two days later Alastor gets Albus to try his own favorite meal from The Three Broomsticks. Dinner every other day becomes their standard. Alastor brings the food. Albus and he exchange owls beforehand, only discussing food, and Albus decides on drinks. Sometimes Alastor brings candy, other times Albus does. It’s relaxing to spend an hour or two eating and talking. Alastor keeps the flirting to a low level. It’s an occasional compliment or slight innuendo, enough that Albus isn’t overwhelmed, but also steady enough to let him know Alastor hasn’t lost interest.

“I know you’ve been hurt before,” Alastor acknowledges two weeks into their meals together.

“Maybe I deserve to be alone,” Albus sighs.

“Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough?” Alastor challenges.

Albus isn’t sure he ever will be done feeling guilty for his misplaced trust, for the lives lost, the people he couldn’t save. He tries to change the subject, “When was your last relationship?”

“Nineteen eighty-three. It lasted a year,” Alastor tells him. “I’ve only had flings since then, and no this isn’t a fling.”

“We maybe have a summer,” Albus acknowledges.

“I’ll take a summer, but this isn’t a fling.”

Albus wants to point out that every other day is a pattern, but he doesn’t want to offend Alastor or set off his more paranoid thoughts.

“Ask,” Alastor prods.

“Every other day,’ Albus tells him.

Alastor makes a considering noise, then explains, “You enjoy routine. I take a different route every time. We both get what we want.”

“How considerate,” Albus laughs. It’s true, routine makes him feel safe and cozy.

“I’m not horrible at this,” Alastor shrugs. “I’m not great, but not horrible either.”

“Maybe you should give yourself more credit,” Albus acknowledges.

“Are you considering?” Alastor smirks, a twinkle in both his eyes, not just the magical one.

“I’ve been, since you’ve asked,” Albus reassures.

“You let me know when you know,” Alastor tells him.

“And if I decide against it?” Albus asks.

“Then I get good company with a friend.”

“If I decide for?” Albus asks with hesitation. He doesn’t deserve this, but he’s starting to want it.

“Up to you,” Alastor smirks again. Albus can feel the blush spread over his cheeks as he considers how best to let Alastor know he wants this, them. 

“I’m not used to being flustered,” he admits.

“Neither am I,” Alastor agrees gruffly. “Something new for the both of us.”

“The last time I…”Albus starts, then stops to shake his head. “This is not that. I consider you a friend, but this is different from the last time a friend showed interest. You’re not pushing or questioning, just sharing. And yet…I’m not the best person Alastor.”

Alastor’s chuckle is low and full of resignation. “Do you think I am?”

Albus allows himself a small smile. They both have their past. They both have their demons.

“I have my secrets, you have yours,” Alastor continues. 

Albus lets himself sink back into his chair as the weight of all those secrets and schemes suddenly feel heavy. He looks over the remains of their meal, then meets Alastor’s eyes. “So many secrets.”

“I’m not asking for them,” Alastor reassures. “I’m not offering any of mine.”

“Just a shared understanding?” Albus asks.

“Understanding,” Alastor nods. He sets a chocolate frog on Albus’ desk, says a spell to clean up the mess. “You think on it.”

Albus isn’t surprised when Minerva shows up not long after. She settles herself into the chair that Alastor recently vacated and stares at him hard. He knows she doesn’t know all his secrets, but sometimes he wonders just how much she does know.

“It’s not like you’re keeping his visit a secret,” Minerva tells him.

“That’s true,” he agrees mildly.

“How is he?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking him that?” Albus chides.

She shakes her head at him. “I’d be having nightmares if I'd been trapped like that.”

Alastor is having nightmares. Albus isn’t sure how to help.

“Maybe a nap with someone he trusts,” Minerva suggests.

“I didn’t ask.”

“No, but he makes sure you eat,” she points out. “Maybe you can make sure he sleeps.”

“You’re suggesting I allow myself to be seduced?” he teases.

“Neither of us is getting any younger. It’s about time one of us had an affair.”

“You aren’t…” he starts.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I know nothing about that.”

She nods.

“So you waited two weeks to meddle in my love life?” He has a love life, that’s not something he thought he’d be thinking of again.

She pulls a chocolate frog from her robes and set it on the desk. “Two weeks to be certain. His card.”

“That would help,” he concedes.

“I doubt he needs much convincing,” she smiles.

“I thought I was the one who needed convincing,” he reveals.

“No, you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Have I?” he smiles.

“You should act before you talk yourself out of it,” she concludes.

They arrange a meal. His favorite again, from The Three Broomsticks with butterbeer this time. Albus finds his desk cleared and waiting an hour before Alastor is going to show up. He sets the chocolate frog down and stares at the package, trying to quell his nerves. Is he really getting butterflies in his stomach? He thought he was over this kind of feeling and yet the conversation between him and Alastor is easy and languid. They talk about the things they enjoyed doing, the places they’ve seen, and the places they’d still like to see. Maybe they could see one of those places together. 

Alastor goes to set the food down and tilts his head to look at the chocolate frog. His lips quirk upwards. He picks it up and sets the food down. He sits on the edge of Albus’ desk and opens the package, tilting it so the frog leaps into Albus’ hands. He smiles at his card. Albus offers him the chocolate.

“You have it,” Alastor tells him.

“I can think of something I want more,” Albus says, standing and moving into Alastor’s space slowly, careful not to make the other man feel trapped. Alastor tilts his head. Their lips meet and Albus sinks into the feeling of not being alone, of not having to be alone.


End file.
